
The eldest of five children, I have a classic case of Oldest Child Syndrome. I am quiet, responsible, sensitive, and punctual. My younger sister, the second child, once summed up my personality in one concise sentence: “Christie, you’re the boring one.”
One of the things that captured me in books and eventually drew me to writing is the ability to vicariously live another life through the main character. You can pick your time period, family, looks, and ending.
When I began fiction writing, my main characters were always flat. Interesting things happened to them, but they were not interesting. To figure out why, I began making character sketches, listing the personality traits of my characters. It was then that my sister’s words, said in a high-schooler’s moment of anger, rang true. My characters were boring because I was inserting my own personality into the picture. Even worse, I was photo-shopping myself: My characters became the person I wanted to be, possessing all of my good qualities and none of my quirks, shortcomings, or flaws. My characters were DULL.
The characters I love the most are the ones with the biggest flaws. Becky Bloomwood, Sophie Kinsella‘s credit card-addicted heroine, is one of my favorites. Can I see myself getting into half the scrapes she does? Of course not! My firstborn mentality often balks at even reading about such fiscal irresponsibility. Can I sympathize with her? Yes. She’s lovable, but her flaws are what propel the story along. Imagining my personality in her situation doesn’t work–there would be no plot, no snag, no outrageous resolution. If I were to get into debt, I’d probably apologize to every bill collector and bank manager, then run out and work overtime until I’d paid up. Yawn. No one wants to read that novel.
So now when I need a complicated, flawed main character, I remember my sister’s words and use her as my inspiration instead.
(The oldest child in me is compelled to point out that I’m just kidding, sis! Love you.)









